


Love And Letting Go

by tielan



Category: Exiles - Melanie Rawn
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, Loss, Love, Sisters, letting go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:35:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2823620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the first time she's let her daughter go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love And Letting Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Griddlebone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griddlebone/gifts).



> I love these books and have hoped for a continuation forever. This is not the entirety of where I'd write them going, but it's a snapshot of the sisters as I imagine their lives a few years after the end of Mageborn Traitor. Hope you enjoy it!

With what she thought of as her customary impeccable timing, Sarra stepped through the wards on Cailet’s workroom just as Cailet put the finishing touches on another message globe.

“I’m nearly done.”

“I know.” She’d timed it so.

Sarra crossed over to one of the chairs by the window and heaved her weary old bones into the cushions with a sigh of relief. They were elegant old rosewood chairs, bought at bargain prices from a legal firm in Cantrashir that went broke in the days following the Lenfell Crash, and beautifully reupholstered by Riddon Maurgen and his daughters as a birthday gift to Cailet. (“ _To our cousin, the Captal,_ ” Cailet read from the card, a smile glimmering about her lips. “First Daughter Tevis certainly isn’t shy about her rights and responsibilities!”) But, most importantly, they were _comfortable_.

Comfort wasn’t so common at the Fief, even after two years living here. The Waste was a bleak and battered land, bitterly scarred from the cataclysm that had reduced it to dust and ashes, so different from the place where Sarra had grown up, where those of her name and Cailet’s had been born and raised, First Daughter to First Daughter for generations, until Allynis Ambrai stood in the way of Auvry Feiran’s ambition – backed by First Councillor Avira Anniyas – and Ambrai had been destroyed.

And yet from this window – the Captal’s window – Sarra could sit in harsh sunlight filtered to gentler rays through the overhanging shadecloth, and look down into the greenhouse garden that Josselin had built so he could grow roses in the Waste.

Through the glass panes below, she could see people moving among the greenery – the Prentice Mages assigned to greenhouse duty this week.

Movement in the corner of her eye. Sarra glanced over as Cailet put the message globe away on a shelf with the others and regarded it for a moment with a reflective thoughtfulness.

“Will that be Taigan’s?”

“Yes.” Cailet came and sat down in the chair across from her, her gaze steady on Sarra’s face. “I can’t make any guarantees of her safety, you know.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.” The fear rested under her breastbone, bright and curling – a mother’s terror and tenderness for her First Daughter’s departure into the world. “It’s not the first time I’ve let her go, Cailet.”

“But it’s more difficult this time.”

“I can’t give her what she needs. I don’t know if anyone can.”

“Jored?”

She should have expected that. Jored Feiran – now known to Lenfell as Jored Ambrai. Her nephew and Cailet’s, son of Glenin Feiran, Malerissi by birth and upbringing, Mage traitor by choice, and the man Taigan Ambrai gave her heart to when she was seventeen.

“Mother – our mother, Maichen – they say Grandmother Allynis was beside herself when she chose Auvry Feiran to husband her. Grandfather Gerrin said the Octagon Court rang with their arguments, and everyone tiptoed around them for weeks.”

“ _Whatever else you shall call Auvry Feiran, I shall call him mine,_ ” Cailet murmured.

“So you’ve heard the story.” Sarra absently wove her fingers into the hem of her shirt. “I remember Grandfather Gerrin saying that an Ambrai loves – _truly_ loves – just once.”

“We were lucky,” Cailet said after a moment, staring down at her hands, “you and I.”

“I found Collan – Saints, we were so _young –_ and you found Josselin. Eventually.”

A bright wash of colour rose up in Cailet’s cheeks - still startling after a year. “Or he found me. Sarra, you can’t keep her here at the Fief.”

“I would never—” Sarra swallowed the lie. If she thought she could protect Taigan forever, would she? “I know there’s nothing I can do for Taigan, Caisha.” Bitter words for the woman who once did everything – Councillor of Lenfell, First Daughter, Lady of Roseguard, and mother. “But I worry.”

“You’ve taught her well.”

“So have you. And I trust that – I do. But...”

“You still worry.” Cailet sat back in her chair, her gaze drifting towards the greenhouse. One hand slipped down to splay over her stomach in what Sarra suddenly realised wasn’t a casual gesture.

“You will too,” she said after a moment. And her fears were shuffled to the back of her thoughts in the wash of sudden delight – Cailet to be a mother. “When? Are you sure?”

Cailet exhaled. “Yes. I’m sure. Only just. I haven’t told anyone – not even Josselin. Not yet.”

“He’ll be over the moon.” Sarra was certain of it. Others might have deplored the devotion of a young man to a woman considered too old to birth children, but Josselin loved _Cailet_ , and all the things he was supposed to want from marriage – security, a household, and children were incidental to being hers. “Caisha—”

“We were talking about Taigan.”

“We were. We can change the topic. I’d rather talk about your child coming than think about mine leaving.” Then, in a sudden startling connection, “Is that why you’re letting her leave? Because she’s no longer the only childbearing daughter of the Ambrai name? No,” she cut herself off before Cailet could answer otherwise. “Taigan was already going even before you knew about this child...”

“Yes. But it helps,” Cailet said after a moment or two. “You brought her up to know her responsibilities, Sarra. That includes bearing children to carry on her Name. This,” she indicated her still-flat belly, “will resolve one more thing for her.”

“Do you know if it’s a girl yet?”

“It’s barely even _life_ right now.”

“Caisha, do you remember—after the Rising, when I...lost my First Daughter...”

“Yes. But this isn’t the same.”

“Can you be certain? This isn’t about either Anniyas’ wards or your magic – this is about us as Ambrai women. Both Glenin and I had miscarriages before we gave birth. _And_ we were younger.”

“Saints, Sarra, don’t you think I’ve thought about this since I found out? I’m not—I never thought I’d have children. I thought I was too old to be in this position at all.”

“You’re never too old for _some_ positions.” Sarra arched one delicate gold eyebrow, and ignored the ache at the thought that Collan would have said that if he’d been here. Two years and she still missed him every day.

Cailet rolled her eyes. “Do you _really_ want me to discuss the details with you, Sarra? Keep in mind that if the answer is anything but ‘no’, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“And here I was, all ready be regaled with the details of the Captal’s sexual escapades. But you’re avoiding the topic.”

“Sarra, the instant I tell anyone, it’ll be all through the Fief. Within a week, every Mage Guardian on Lenfell will know, and I’ll be hip-deep in Healer Mages, Warrior Mages, and Prentices trying to make sure I don’t strain a muscle while lifting my teacup.”

“Only hip-deep? I was thinking neck-deep.” Sarra laughed at Cailet’s expression – exasperated and slightly surly. Her sister was in for a great deal of fussing from all the people in the Fief – and it had nothing to do with the Mage power she wielded. “Truly told, Cailet. When you find yourself beset by our care and thoughtfulness, it’ll only be because we love you and we want to look after you. Not the Captal, not the Bequest, but _you_.”

“Is that supposed to make it easier for me to accept everyone’s fussing?”

“No, but it makes it easier for us to fuss.”

“Will fussing over me make it easier to let Taigan go?”

“Nothing will ever make that easier.” Sarra knew her response was flat and didn’t feel the need to apologise for it – not out loud. But she softened her voice for her next words – a reassurance. “But I won’t make leaving hard for her. Bad as it is to watch her go, I’d rather she went than stayed and grow bitter.”

“Letting love live free?”

Sarra thought of Collan, a husband, father, and busy in all the ways that a man could be, and still frustrated by what he couldn't do. And Taigan was her father's daughter, too.

“You’ll understand someday when you have to let your daughter go,” was all she said.

* * *

She wasn’t feeling quite as serene as she would have liked when the time came to say goodbye.

Maybe Taigan knew it, because she waited until her horse was saddled and packed before turning to Sarra and asking, “Mama? You understand, don’t you?”

Sarra thought of joining the Rising at eighteen, of being in the Rising at twenty-two. She thought of those four years, biding her time, waiting for Cailet to grow up, learning all the things that she needed to learn, planning all the changes that needed to be made.

And then being freed to fly.

Lady Agatine had never tried to hold Sarra back; had taught Sarra everything she knew about statescraft, had protected her with her Name and her property, and then let her go forth to become what she was destined to be.

“Yes,” she told Taigan, even as tears stung her eyes. “I understand.”

And because she did, she stayed with Mikel to watch her daughter ride out the gates to become whatever Taigan would.


End file.
